#house au'llon

[brian-wellson]

At his office desk, Wellson pulled a sheet of paper toward him; it was heavy, the cotton pulp felt good and familiar between his fingers, comforting, imbued with the memories of old friends and hard work. The sheet was one of the last to have come out of the paper mill he had owned – the very same that Justine and Kristian had run for him after Blackbay’s crew had been shot down over the Broken Isles. He picked up his black-ink fountain pen, a Winter’s Veil gift from many years before, and stared out the long bay window of his Stormwind flat. People walked along the canals, some faces familiar, many not. His mind wandered – how strange this place was, how not home it had become, how he had missed the concept of home, only to realize it was just that: only a concept. 

He placed the nib to the cotton ragstock and began to write:

–

Honourable Lord Regent Henry Rollins, Honourable Lady Regent Elunara Rollins –

I trust that the Estate is in good order, that the bridges have been repaired, and that contact and trade with Boralus has been resumed. I also trust the good people of the House Au’llon are being treated well and fair, and are fully employed and healthy, though I would imagine the economy is geared toward the war effort at this point…

There are a few items I wish to have you implement:

1. Please open the enclosed package. Inside, you will find the old letter press dies which Elunara had procured for the Press in early seventh-month, 32 ADP. I want you to begin the process of restoring the Press;

2. Please draw up two distinct rooms, in addition to mine own: one for a Staff Sergeant Harrison, and the other for the new protective detail, Master-at-Arms Cliara. I will send a dossier forthwith. Please see that Master Cliara’s room is adjacent to mine own.

3. In a similar vein, keep the guest house ready at all times for all friends and colleagues of Blackbay: Miss Kyara, Miss Juniper, Mister Andrew, Miss Gwen, as well as the others. Mistress Quai is to have unrestricted access to my own stateroom.

4. I require a full accounting of the Estate’s wealth and assets. 

Lastly, there will be a very large order of wine arriving. I had it shipped to Boralus; many of the bottles are the last of their vintage. Please keep 80% of our bottles on-side, and the other 20% locked in the City vault.

Yours most sincerely,

Doctor Brian I. Wellson (Lt., ret.) Lord, House of Au’llon

P.S.: On a personal note, I hope my letter finds you will – tell me, how is the youngest master Rollins faring? And the Lady Elunara – are you recovering well post-delivery? Birdhat sends his regards.

–

He read and reread the letter. Satisfied, he tucked it in an envelope and sealed that with his personal wax stamp. He called Birdhat over, and dispatched the grummle to the post. 

One thing at a time, he told himself, pulling a thick tome toward him. One thing at a time.

(( Mentioned: @quai-mason @killerkyara @juniper-rose-blower @andrew-mason @gwen-oconnell @seattlebourne ; Implied: @thalsianiii ))

[brian-wellson]

“Considered yourself served,” said the agent of the Crown.

The courier dipped her head respectfully — a gesture Henry Rollins returned — before she turned on her heel, and walked out the door.

Henry handed the thick folded paper to Elunara. “They wanna dig ‘im up? Wot fer?” He set his jaw. “Imma figh’ et, I swear ta — ! Bring et up en ‘ouse o’ Lords tomorro’!”

Elunara shook her head. “Slow down … take a moment,” she said. She unfolded the paper and read the first page thoroughly. “Mmm…,” she mused. “An imposter, perhaps?” She reached the second page — and then the third, this one an enclosed letter scrawled on a thinner material and in extremely familiar hand.

“Oh…” she started. Her eyes went wide. She continued to read. The colour drained from her face. “Oh… oh no…”

“Elunara?” asked Henry. He took her arm, steadied her. He felt her sway a bit. He watched the papers drop to the floor.

Henry guided Elunara to the foyer’s writing desk toward which she had gestured. He set her in the chair and almost called for their valet before remembering it was after eight bells — and, as per their own reforms, valets had banned from working after eight bells except for State and otherwise noteworthy occasions. “I’ll be right back,” he said quietly.

Elunara grabbed his arm.

“Don’t fight,” she said.

“Wot?”

“Promise me.”

“Et’s Doc Wells—”

“HENRY!” she snapped.

Henry Rollins stopped arguing.

“Promise me.”

“…aye,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ain’ gonna figh’ et…”

Elunara pointed toward the papers on the floor as so many venomous snakes. “Something bad is coming, love.”

“Wot…?”

“Arrange for Justine’s transport to Kul Tiras first thing.”

“She’s our daughtah! This is our ‘ome! Ye canno’ be scare’ o’ th’ Crown like thi’!”

Elunara shook her head. “You’ve known me eight years, Henry. You have given me child. Listen to me!”

Henry bit his lip.

“Arrange it.” She stood. She was shaking — and she knew Henry could see.

“An’ you?”

She started toward the tiny museum of Wellson’s artifacts and archæological writings. “Getting ready for work.”

“Pro forma session’s en … uh …”

“Not that … work,” she said.

He stooped down to pick up the papers. She neared the museum doors.

Death was coming.